The blizzard outside was frightful but, partying on, New York was so delightful.

Broadway’s Drama League honored Neil Patrick Harris. Tim Gunn (“I was honored to be in his Smurfs movie”) mushed through slush in pristine tux, gleaming shirt, shiny shoes, polished studs. The guy must’ve flown. Even his veins were at attention. So are his X-rays retouched? He ever look schloompy?

“Sure. Going to one event in the car, I spilled coffee. Everyone brought water. Rubbed seltzer. It was all over me. Nothing helped. The hostess asked, ‘What happened to you?’ So you don’t sulk or go home. You harness your resources. Carry on. Use what’s available. I simply said, ‘Was an accident. Nobody’s hurt. No one died. Not worth being upset.’ ”

It’s again Fashion Week. His comments?

“Those stupid-ass shows have 160 designers. Easy to get into that. Daunting to keep it up. If they can survive, lots of luck. And all have ego, which is needed as ammunition, otherwise the tough industry will kill them.”

Neil Patrick Harris said his coming B’way play “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” is “a one-woman show about an East Berlin transgender lady, back when getting to America was by marriage. Look, I’ve spent nine years doing a TV character who’s an alpha guy. I didn’t want to do that same idea. This is a 90-minute, no-intermission production.”

There with his partner, Neil said: “Because of ‘Hedwig,’ I can’t emcee the Tonys. But I can now be home with our two kids. Family for me is very important.”

For its biddingforgood.com/thedramaleague online auction, you can get a tour of “Downton Abbey’s” Highclere Castle, a weekend at the Breeders’ Cup, a week in Belize, tea with Tony winner Denis O’Hare, visits with celebs, backstage tours, tapings of “Grey’s Anatomy,” autographed Slash of Guns N’ Roses guitar and a partridge in a pear tree.

Tallying sales

AmEx CEO Ken Chenault gave David Dinkins’ new book “A Mayor’s Life” its 300th party. So how many copies he sold? “No idea . . . but a few. I know I still have to keep teaching at Columbia ever since I lost my other job.”

And: “Did you know de Blasio’s wife, Chirlane, was one of my speech writers?”

Superfans can’t quit

Beginning 1 a.m. the Copacabana roof numbered 1,000 Seahawkerites. Staying until 4 a.m., consuming a few hundred emergency extra special-delivery cases of beer, they had a marching band, sang “We are the champions” and were so drunk that wallets and clothes got left behind. The $30,000-per-person group was corralled by Seattle’s Legion of Boom — whateverthehell that is.

Drawing board

ObamaCare’s bringing new rulings. Like suing for damages if, instead of setting a broken leg, the patient’s new doctor prescribes limping lessons.

Or his rights get usurped if, complaining of a ringing in his ears, his care provider’s prescription is “Don’t answer it.”

At a Beatles retrospective, the announcer announced: “Taking of photographs and audio is prohibited. But if you did, make sure they go up on Facebook and Twitter.”